


after all (you're my wonderwall)

by stag_von_simp



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Battle, But it's there, Confessions, F/M, Fear, Fluff, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Suffering, Written in all lowercase, blood mention, just be warned, not descriptive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22299136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stag_von_simp/pseuds/stag_von_simp
Summary: annette gets hurt, and claude gets honest.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	after all (you're my wonderwall)

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys!! it's been way too long since i've posted here...sorry :')
> 
> but!! it's occurred to me that exactly no one ships these two, and that's an injustice. i love claudenette as much as i love dimiclaude--which is quite a lot. and the ship deserves everything, so...here. take it. and enjoy :)))

so annette has been with the golden deer since their academy days, but the academy days seem like fantasy, they’re so distant, not to mention so _surreal_ in the amount of happiness they brought. every single person in the golden deer considers her a friend–except for claude, who’s not quite sure what he considers her. a friend seems too superficial. a distraction seems too cruel. a crush seems too childish–and way too extreme. he’s not supposed to have a crush on her. that’s like he’s setting himself up to be hurt when she can’t help but not return his feelings. (why should she??? he’s been so amicably aloof since he met her, whiling away their time with chitchat of songs and deep messages swathed in carefree words and moving on even when the going gets tough because there’s always a meal to anticipate. that’s hardly enough for her to try and force a connection for his sake.)

so he suffers in silence with the tangle of his feelings for her–until they come bruising him right in the face and his heart during _this_ fateful battle.

it’s barely a skirmish, claude is convinced going into it, but then, he’s surfing the winds, skimming the scene from too far above it to connect. annette is on the ground, flinging spells at their foes with graceful fingers. claude finds himself stringing arrows and letting them fly without looking, he’s too busy watching her work. annette is so languid when she’s not self-conscious. when she’s not overthinking every step, she’s so effortless. when she’s lost in the world of her own abilities, she seems nearly at ease.

claude finds his face sketched into a fuzzy smile, despite the circumstances brewing beneath him–

until the smile is sent staggering. 

until the smile–or, more like the catalyst who stamped it to his face–is blown back by an axe to the stomach. until the smile crumples, and the magic swirling from its overworked fingertips croaks out of sight.

then claude’s heart surges into his throat, and before he can calculate a way to proceed with annette (he can see her blood from here, swelling across the grass in a puddle of red, woven in sloppily with the mockingly pure green of the grass, and, dear sothis, if you’re somehow there, you _better_ save her) he’s swinging himself from his wyvern’s back.

the animal howls in confused protest, but claude’s too busy quaking with the impact of hitting the ground on his knees to worry about it. pain branches out in his legs. 

he ignores it, scrambles to his feet, and tears past everyone else to reach his sweet annette. his quiver bangs against his back, though the bass of it is dull compared to the scream of his own heartbeat. he’d forgotten his bow somewhere behind him, but he won’t get hurt, he doesn’t have time.

as soon as he reaches her, he skids to his knees. his cheeks are already tracked with wet roads, like scars. 

annette is squeaking with every breath, balled within herself, arms twined around her torso, as if she can wring herself free of her agony. claude feels said agony himself, and it blinds him, shocking his vision white and snipping his senses out of relevance. 

he feels his hands rove across the grass–a finger grazes a soft sliver of hair–he somehow locates the base of her skull and cradles it with one hand, using the other to herd her onto his lap.

claude knows–somewhere, in his colorless, rampaging rebel of a brain–that he needs to pave through the knot of chaos around where he’s hunched, he needs to _find a damn healer,_ but his tongue jerks control over him and his brain fizzles out. he forgets about it.

forgets about everything but her and the rasps of her breathing.

“annette, annette, you can’t die, okay? i forbid it, and, yes, i know that’s not how death works–it doesn’t answer to irrelevant, clueless kids like me, and most of the time it doesn’t have to, but…annie, i…i love you.” there’s a cough like a sputter of a breath, and annette may be crying, or claude may be crying. he feels his body shuddering, despite the sweat pasting every inch of his clothes to his skin. “there, fine, there it is. i love you.”

he doesn’t feel better, but, dear sothis, he wants to.

“i love you. i…don’t think i can do this without you. i can’t f-finish this war, and i damn sure can’t be a king without you. w-without your music behind me…you know, sometimes, that’s all i have. your music. and your dimples, and those stupid freckles that act like they’re trying to kill me, they’re so cute. you’re all that keeps me going, sometimes. sometimes, raw ambition isn’t enough. but love…i-i think it’s enough.”

an idea huffs through his head, like a spark that finally lit, after a year of scratching twigs together and praying.

“yes. love. love will keep you alive. it better work, or i…no. enough about me! just…annie. _live, dammit!”_

and then he’s hollering and collecting annette against his chest. he hasn’t the slightest idea who he’s hollering for, but marianne’s at his side after a cloudy moment of half-awareness on claude’s part. the slight weight of annette is snatched from his chest, and there’s a sword in his hands that he’s barely confident enough to hold (marianne must have thrust it into his grip), and there’s the healer’s mumble wincing through his ears, telling him to fight.

and then annette chokes on the same command, right before marianne dashes off, weaving her way out of the throng of the battlefield, annette safely tucked against her.

if annette wants him to fight…

claude whirls around. and you better believe he fights.

the battle ends, in claude’s favor. the second it’s complete, his knees flicker out, and lorenz is hefting him to his feet, asking what in heavens has him so frazzled. claude rummages for words that aren’t there (the only words that he can recall _ever_ hearing are his own echoes of affection for annette and her command that he fights as a response to the confession) and he turns up only sobs.

hours pass. claude grooms himself enough to address some of his own commands to his soldiers. then, marianne’s sidling up beside him out of nowhere and informing him that annie’s awake.

the first thing annette says when claude hurtles into the infirmary is this: “did you really say you loved me, or was i…just dreaming?”

her voice is a croak. claude’s pulse is a cheer.

he trips to reach her fast enough and stoops down to kiss her in reply. he feels her arms drape his shoulders, and then there’s nothing but relief trying to dump him to his knees, just like the pain.

this time, it doesn’t succeed. love keeps him balanced on his feet–until annette wrangles him into the bed beside her. she murmurs that she’ll be okay, but she’s tired, and she giggles weakly and tells him he looks like a complete wreck and demands he rests beside her.

claude feels himself reduced to the servant of her every desire. and honestly? he’ll be quite happy to spend his life in servitude, for _her_.


End file.
